Let's Go On With The Show
by Ramonks33
Summary: AU: 1926. Amelia is lead Ziegfeld girl in the New Amsterdam theater, on the verge of finally succeeding her dreams, but missing someone by her side. Rory is training with the US army, almost ready to be shipped off for the war, but finds his dreams being halted by a certain singer who has captured his heart. But whatever the two go through, they know they must go on with the show.
1. Chapter 1

_Let's Go On With The Show_

_ A/N: Hello, everybody! This is the latest multi-chapter fic I wanted to write, because since most of my multi-chapter fics are are PJO, I figured let's give Doctor Who a try! (For those who are about to bring "My Impossible Girl" up, that's more of a one shot, fluffy sort of multi-chapter. Not exactly a consistent plot in that one, plot if you squint. This one centers around everybody's favorite couple (well, mine, anyway), Amelia Pond and Rory Williams. I wanted to see what these two would be like in an early 1920's American fic. I hope you do enjoy, and don't forget to review!_

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><p>"Donna! Get your bottom out here or Mr. Ziegfeld will be sure to kick it on stage!"<p>

"Oi! I'm not some dumb dora, Amelia! Get on out there! YOU'RE LEAD!"

Behind the crimson curtains, about 40 or so girls scamper around in 3 inch heels, panicking and afraid. For many, this is their first night in the Ziegfeld revue, but for the scarlet haired, sharp tongued woman, this is a calm night. Chaos will begin harmony as the curtains will open, and they will charm the many businessmen, lawyers and strangers who wait in the audience. It is the principal of the show, to dance in the elaborate outfits and allow catcalls. Balance in your heels, for if you slip, everybody will fail. A domino chain of Ziegfeld girls. Ignore the sweat on your brow and the strap digging into your bare shoulder, because this is the business. And when it is all said and done, you get your minimum three dollars and go back to your old rubbish apartment, using the money you have earned for the food you need and the life you are bound to. The life you left the farm for, and travelled to the city that never sleeps. New York City. 1926. 214 West, 24nd Street, between Seventh and Eighth Street. Nearly eight of the hours, and the Ziegfeld girls are ready.

Amelia Pond lines herself in front of Donna Noble, balancing the large grey fedora on top of her red hair, adjusting the hem of her short glimmering fringed dress, styled after famous business men in the city. She adjusts her bright red lipstick for a moment, before putting on the classic smile she's worn for every show since. Chin up, shoulders back, tuck in your bottom and let the teeth show, as the crimson curtains open, and the show begins. Bright lights hit her face, and she smiles at the audience. Her fellow Ziegfeld girls stride across the stage, in outfits similar to her own, yet not as elaborate or as eye catching. She dances across the stage, side to side, before grabbing the mic she knows all too well and begins to sing.

"_Summer journeys to Niagara and to other places_  
><em> Aggravate all our cares, we'll save our fares<em>  
><em> I've a cozy little flat in what is known as old Manhattan<em>  
><em> We'll settle down right here in town."<em>

She grabs the cane that she knows is behind the curtain, as the girls behind her sing the background harmonies and melodies. She strides across the stage, a bright grin on her face as she swings the cane around and around. She lifts her long pale leg, throwing it into the air and "accidentally" flashing the audience. A loud catcall is heard, and she ignores the disgust she feels. Knowing her beauty, and amazing manager will excuse her from her indecency, she begins to sing once more.

_We'll have Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island too_  
><em> It's lovely going through the zoo<em>  
><em> It's very fancy on old Delancy Street, you know<em>  
><em> The subway charms us so, when balmy breezes blow to and fro<em>

A dance break, as her fellow Ziegfeld girls take the stage. Donna, Rose and Jackie all run forward, doing the triple flip, followed by Yvonne and Penny with the perfectly timed splits. Amelia merely scats her lines, singing 'oos' and 'ah's' as the other girls get their chance to show the audience what they are made of. As much as the girls are all competition, Amelia feels pride. Donna had had much trouble with the choreography Mr. Ziegfeld had assigned for tonight's show, but seeing her do it with that much confidence made her glow. Donna was such a beautiful woman, but she didn't know what Amelia knew. She bounces in place with the cane, sliding side to side, before reaching the next lines of the song, letting it carry her away.

_And tell me what street compares with Mott Street in July?_  
><em> Sweet pushcarts gently gliding by<em>  
><em> The great big city's a wondrous toy just made for a girl and boy<em>  
><em> We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy<em>

Indeed, there was no business like the show business.

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><p>After the cool downs, usual hugs and kisses between the Ziegfeld girls, Amelia strides down to the bottom level of the theater, knowing had favorite big chinned friend and manager will be awaiting her. She throws the fedora off her head and lets her long thick hair run free. She shakes her head, smiling to herself, and throws the door open.<p>

"Helloooo, Raggedy Man!"

"Amelia!" She can't fight the grin that crawls onto her face as John Smith jumps up from the wooden chair he had been in. She glances at her vanity, seeing bits of red and pale brown spilled all around the vanity, and then bursts out laughing when she sees John's face. Bits of red on his lips and odd spots of dark brown on his cheeks. Ridiculous man. "Wonderful job! Mr. Ziegfeld himself saw the show tonight! You're on your way to the real business, my darling!"

John Smith and Amelia Pond were best friends, hand in hand. Both having been born in the same small town somewhere out west. John hadn't ever wanted to be a manager, but when Amelia at age 16 needed a manager as fast as she could, and Mr and Mrs. Pond couldn't afford one, John had poured himself into his studies and got his degree to be her legal manager. Sure, people had thought the two were lovers, but Amelia could never see her best friend, who willingly dressed like one of the urchins on the streets. John was the one Amelia owed her entire life to. The one who stayed up late nights while she slept, organizing as many jobs and lucky breaks for his friend. The one who organized professional auditions for Amelia, convincing and begging for a chance to be given, and when he got the lucky break with Ziegfeld follies, he had stayed up for three days straight organizing an audition and training Amelia for it. Now, sitting in her dressing room, the two knew those late nights had been worth it. The sores on her feet, the rings under her eyes and the stress John had felt, the anxiety and the everlasting doubt nagging in the back of his mind.

"I may have done a good job, but Raggedy Man, your makeup job needs some work." She steers him over to wooden chair in front of the vanity and shakes her head, tsk'ing as she takes a cloth and soaks it in some cold water. She begins to roughly dab at his lips, as he looks at her and pouts. Once the red and brown are gone, and he looks like his usual self with his big chin, she sighs, crossing her arms and leaning forward, bracing her arms on the back of the chair.

"John...do you really think all of this is worth it?"

"What do you mean, Amelia? Personally, I thought the song "Manhattan" is too overdone these days but-"

"Oi, shut up, Raggedy Man! And get up." She pulls him out of the chair and sits in front of the vanity. John merely remains quiet, combing his fingers through her thick red locks. Amelia holds her head in her hands, shaking her head, before taking a deep breath and sighing softly.

"Look, John...we both know how hard we worked for this. But...do you ever feel like it's all pointless? All of this? I mean...maybe I could blame my Mum and Dad for this, but...what's the point of being famous if there is no one who could love me as I am?"

"I love you, Amelia, as your friend-"

"I know, John, but someone...you remember Mr and Mrs. McDonald back at home? Mrs. McDonald was so kind to Mr. McDonald, letting him mess around with mechanics and not minding when he would blow up their house? She was so kind...she loved him for who he was."

"Amelia-"

"I...I don't know why I feel like this. Maybe it's just tonight's show. Or maybe because Donna is still alone and she's about 40 years old, now. The show is her only funds for life, and I don't mean to be rude, but she's going now. Mr. Ziegfeld had told me last week that maybe it's time for her to go...even if I go from this show, and you know how much I love this business...I want someone to love me for me. A someone who'll laugh at my jokes, keep quiet when I want him to and not mind when I speak out. Someone who'll hold my hand and say I look beautiful, even if I don't...a someone for me, John."

"Amelia..." John feels mixed emotions in his heart as his best friend gives this speech. He kneels beside her, so his face was right next to hers. He sighs softly, before caressing her cheek with his thumb, "We've both worked so hard for this...you, especially. Remember? Maybe it's the songs you're singing, Amelia, about love and devils and isles, but one day, one day I promise you'll have someone to love you for who you are. I'm your manager, best friend," He turns her head, holding her cheeks in his hands, a small sad smile on her face, "And I'll be sure to help you, my Pond. My best friend. You've waited too long for someone to love you." He kisses her forehead quickly, and she grins from ear to ear.

"Thank you, Raggedy Man."

"Anything, for my girl who waited."

The two promptly gather their things and stride out of the theater. Amelia wraps her coat more tightly around herself, adjusting her dark blue cloche hat on her head. John laughs, adjusting his bow tie, as Amelia points out a drunken man doing a ridiculous sort of dance. The city streets glow around them, as manager and showgirl walk down the pavement, their happy smiles illuminated by the bright lights that burn in the dark of night. Men and women around them press on, ignoring the happy friends as they make their way to their apartment they share together. Unaware of the man who stands stunned at the entrance of the New Amsterdam Theater, still watching and staring at the beautiful caricatured poster of the Ziegfeld girls, all of them beautiful, but one more beautiful then the rest. That Amelia Pond woman. She was so goddamn beautiful, her seductive smile having captured his heart. He stands there, staring at the poster, until the big eyed brunette girl beside him elbows him sharply.

"Oi, Rory! Come on! I know they were all beautiful, but come along. You have medical training in the morning!"

Rory Williams sighs, shaking his head. Clara was right. He probably wouldn't ever see that showgirl again. Rumor was in the streets that Mr. Ziegfeld was thinking about shipping her overseas, giving her her own show. Rory knew exactly what Ziegfeld was thinking. Her voice was one that matched the angels in the sky, such beauty, and such...fierceness. Women were supposed to be quiet, reserved, and even Ziegfeld girls themselves were quiet and kept to themselves. But even when Amelia wasn't singing, Rory had seen it, the way her eyes glowed under the lights, she loved the show. She loved dancing and singing, and she knew who she was. She knew exactly what she could do and took that power, that power that held the audience close.

"Of course, Oswin," Rory replies, biting his lip quickly, trying to pull himself out of his stupor. That Amelia Pond woman was amazing. He would probably never see her again, however. He smiles down at his companion, his best friend, Clara Oswin Oswald, and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her petite frame towards him, "I do. And you've got that nanny job for Harrison and Forde. Those kids are bundles of bees."

The disheartened man and his best friend hurried down the street in the opposite direction of that Raggedy Man and the Pond woman, Rory fighting the image that threatened to appear in his head. Amelia's arms around him, holding him close before he stepped onto the train that would take him overseas and fighting for the American country he lived in and loved. Seeing her face next to him in the morning. The many possibilities that could be if she would allow him to be her someone. But wishing was for the weak, and dreams only happened on clouds. Clara had told him that, ever since they were children, and he believed. But this time, and for once in his life, he wished she was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

_Let's Go On With The Show, chapter 2_

_ A/N: Hey, all you sweet peeps! (THAT WAS LAME. I apologize.) Anyway, I apologize for the REALLY late chapters, because I've been busy with school. New recruit to the school wind ensemble, birthday, getting shit done...it's been "fun." Especially with the recent emotions after finishing the final book of the HoO, " The Blood of Olympus." Please tell me I am not the only one. Lots of love sent to my reviewers, Randomcat1832, supersexyghotmew95, izzyclaire and JessicaWhoCouldEndTheWorld for your lovely words!_

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><p>As soon as Amelia was fast asleep, taking the small cot that they had barely been able to afford, John shrugs on the dirty long coat that he favors, and throws on his favorite Stetson hat. Both found in the dumpster in the alley next to their apartment. John knew he could've used their money they scrounged together before coming to the city, to buy himself a good coat, but he had given it all to Amelia, so she could have all she needed. Fancier gowns, contrary to her plain country clothes. The low cut flapper dresses that helped her in her auditons during their struggle to the top. The strangest and most beautiful head dresses that convinced directors to hire her, and eventually, convinced Mr. Ziegfeld to hire her for Ziegfeld Follies.<p>

John Smith and Amelia Pond had a relationship most could barely fathom. It was not of love, as many people would assume. John could never see his best friend, the girl whom he had felt like a little sister towards, like that. Too sharp, and a strange accent on her tongue many had trouble understanding, and he had helped her get rid of in favor of a smart, American accent. He was the one to give up most of his education funds, when Amelia had asked him to help her audition in New York. John Smith had wanted to be a doctor, a medical man of knowledge, but instead, he gave up the world of knowledge for the world of shimmering dresses and blinding lights. All for his best friend, Amelia Pond. It wasn't out of simple and amazing selflessness, it was because Amelia had given up so much for him. To comfort him and miss school to comfort him when the ladies in their tiny town broke his heart. The one who gave him a home when his parents had booted him out of their house at the age of sixteen, when he told him he was to help Amelia. The one to steal food when he was banned from the market for an accident he couldn't control. John lets himself grin, as he tucks the coat close around his body. What a memory. Him and Amelia had their fair share of struggles, but they had helped each other through it.

But was it worth it? It was nights like this, when he listens to his Amelia long for more. Nights when the questions that haunted him finally assault him, pounding him down into the dirt until he could find the answers. He's given her nearly everything he could give, and he knew she would always be grateful. But he couldn't give her the one thing she longed for, love. He knew he could never feel romantically attracted to her, she was his Amelia. Nothing more or less. Her Raggedy Doctor man. His Pond. They will always be connected one way or another. But he couldn't give her the love she deserves. The love that is what everybody longs for, who comes to the city and the country. Either to find their love or to settle down. To find, to quote her, her _someone_.

Amelia is beautiful, he couldn't deny that, and an intelligent woman. A smart, independant, ferocious woman. She knew what she wants and she never let anyone stop her. When she had gone out with Patrick Yerex in the ninth year, everybody at school had called her a scarlet woman, but that hadn't stopped her at all. Amelia didn't allow anyone to stomp on her, or bring her down. Sure, she's had her days when she's felt like dirt, but John always reminded her she is remarkable. Her beauty was astounding. Her intelligence is enviable. Her heart is gold, and the sharp tongue just gave a beautiful accent to her character. If she was a painting, she would be a masterpiece. John himself knew this so well.

While walking through the dark, but not silent, streets of the city that all long to go to, his thoughts have somehow invaded the path his feet walked along, and found himself in front of a bar, filled with your local flappers, your drunken men looking for love, your soldiers who haven't recovered, all the lost and broken who want to forget everything. He stares wistfully at the half glowing sign above it, crooked.

"The Caper's Check. Such a nice speakeasy." He murmurs to himself, reading the angled sign, and with a look behind him, feeling in his pockets for coins, and with a deep breath, he allows his feet to bring him into the dark dirty bar. He almost regrets his choice a minute later, when he the stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies hits his nose. He resists the urge to bring the collar of the coat up to his nose, and he continues on his way. He passes the four round tables, two of them completely occupied by drunk men, and heads to the bar. He approaches the long desk, where the man is wiping the inside of a glass with a somewhat dirty rag.

"Beer. That's all," John mumbles, sliding forth the five dollars that he had left, "Leave it in the bottle."

"Five fifty is the price," the bartender says with a slight glare, "Unless you got fifty more cents, boy, you might wanna try the joint around the corner."

"Fifty? When did they raise the prices?" John exclaims, his eyes widening, and his noticeably big chin lowers, "I was sure it was five dollars, no more, no less!"

"You don't got the dough, you best dry up," the bartender replies quickly, and leans forward, resting his forearm on the counter, "Now, hand it over, or you're a piker."

John is about to call him plenty of good names, a few that aren't even legal in the state of New York, before two coins worth 25 cents are slid in front of him. John is stunned, as a man with sandy blonde hair gives the man the last 50 cents for his drink. The bartender accepts it without question, though he gives John the stink eye. John, opening the bottle, is quiet as the man with the sandy hair takes another sip of his own drink. The two men are silent, awkwardly shifting in their seats and avoiding the other's gazes.

"Thank you."

"It was nothing." The sandy haired man replies, "Rough night?"

"The roughest." John turns to the other man, shaking his head, "Wouldn't find myself here for any other reason. And of what of you, kind stranger?"

"Kind?" The man chuckles, laughing softly, "Not even close. Leaving my only friend for the military. She's upset."

"She? Are you two...?" John uses odd hand gestures, unsure how to say what he's thinking. He first raises his right hand, and wraps it around the left, and then awkwardly holds it close to his heart. When the man simply gives him an odd look, he sighs, exasperated. Though, the other man simply stares, then his eyes widen in realization. He spits out his drink, and the bartender gives him a nasty look. John cries out, and as soon as the man has calmed down.

"Together? You think...Clara and I?"

"Well..."

"No! Not at all. She's my best friend. If anything, she would fall for a man with a big chin, like you. She likes the weird types." He playfully slaps John's arm.

"I don't have a big chin! And what did you say your name was?"

"Rory. And yes, you do, Mr...?"

"John." He grins, straightening his blazer, "John Smith, manager of Ziegfeld girl, rising star, Amelia Pond." He gives Rory a toothy smile, but Rory merely stares back in shock, his mouth agape.

"A-Amelia? _The _Amelia Pond?"

"The one and only."

"Sir, please," Rory nervously wipes his hands on his trousers, taking another huge sip of his drink, "Um, John, sorry...if you don't mind...you don't mind...if I...and her..." He suddenly sways in his seat, and John fumbles to save him as his eyes shut and he nearly hits the ground.

"Rory! Oi, Rory!" He shakes him, but Rory doesn't reply, his eyes open but dazed, "Come now, get together!"

"Not going to help, he's completely bent," the bartender says from behind the counter, "He's had about 4 bottles of the strong stuff. I say, fear of shell shock. I hope he doesn't off himself like others-"

"You're not helping!"

"HEY!"

A sharp, sweet voice is heard from the entrance of the bar, and John raises his head to see a short, brunette girl force her way through the drunken men, pushing aside a particularly promiscuous man. He goes crashing to the ground. She takes Rory from John's arms, holding him upright, then glares at John.

"Sorry Mac, bank is closed," she yells towards the man that she shoved over, but she then immediately turns her attention back to Rory, "What did you do to him?" She demands, prodding his chest, "Spike his drink? Or took him for too many, like Pink. You goddamn soldiers, drinking to save all your troubles! I told him he had training, and he said he would go have a drink then come back!"

"Wait, wha-?" John merely stares as the girl, wraps Rory's arm around her shoulder, surprisingly being able to hold his weight for one with such a small frame, "Who are you?"

"Clara. Clara Oswin Oswald." She spits out, lifting Rory's chin and looking at his neck, checking his pulse. "Drunk as ever. I swear, he'll off himself before he leaves, such bushwa...and you are?" Her brown eyes raise to the stunned manager, and John takes a good five seconds before he gets back into the zone. If anything, if this was the Clara Rory had been talking about, he didn't find her as attractive when she was yelling and blaming him for Rory being drunk.

"John. John Smith." He walks over to her side, ignoring the bartender taking their glasses and beginning to dump their drinks, "And do you need help with, well...that?"

Clara was beginning to sag underneath the full weight of a drunken, out of state Rory. "No, I'm fine. I really am. Thanks for asking-"

"But I-"

"I _insist._" Terse silence. "Well, I could, but I don't like asking strangers with big chins for help. Especially those called John Smith."

"Hey!"

"Now, go chase yourself, Mr. Smith." she begins to drag Rory out of the darkened bar, as the other drunken men are either watching the spectacle that is the drunken soldier, the confused manager and the aggravated nanny. The moonlight outside illuminates her body, and though she's half bent over because of the weight of her friend, she looked like a goddess. Someone to come and take the world by storm.

"And remember me."

"Oh, trust me..." He mumbles to himself, watching as she drags Rory down the alley and out into the city of New York. Clara Oswin Oswald. "I will."

He remembers Rory Williams, the drunken soldier, and the exceptionally impressive Clara Oswald that night, even in his half-intoxicated state. He remembers Rory's words, his shock when he mentioned Amelia. Amy could like Rory, he thinks to himself as he re-enters the apartment, managing to stay undetected all night. Amelia is still fast asleep. He pulls off his dirty coat, undoing the bow tie that is loose on his neck. Amelia could love Rory. Maybe. Maybe she could.

"I've got your someone, Amy," he mumbles to himself, looking at his friend in slumber, "And I'm not letting him go. Not gonna make you wait anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

_Let's Go On With The Show, chapter 3_

_ A/N: Man, sorry guys! I've been so freaking busy, and thoroughly tired, I've not had the time to update anything! Lots of love to my reviewers for giving me your feedback, Randomcat1832; BowtiesSouffles and izzyclaire. I hope you enjoy this next installment of Let's Go On With The Show!_

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><p>Rory's head hurt.<p>

It pounded. It shook his entire body as he slowly began to wake up. He hasn't had such a hangover since that last drink with his best friend, Danny. Closing his eyes, he saw stars. Sitting up quickly, he regrets it when a sharp pain thrums through his skull. Bringing tears to his eyes, he blinks them away, taking a careful look around the apartment.

The mantle above the fireplace is cracked, the fire long gone since the hours of night. Bright light shined through the curtains of the window, nearly blinding him at first. White soft curtains dance lightly, as the apartment's small rinky dink fan keeps it cool in the July weather. It's already over 20 degrees, even though it's not even noon. Rory knew it would be scorching in his uniform, thank goodness he didn't have to go to training today-

"Morning."

Rory turns his head to see his best friend, Clara Oswald, standing in the doorframe of his bedroom. She holds in her hands a glass of water, a few pills and a blanket. Rory didn't realize until now, he was shivering. Clara comes over to his cot and wraps the knit blanket around his bare shoulders, handing him the glass of water with a disapproving look. He gives her a questioning look, swallowing the pills dry, and it's not for a good five minutes does he understand why she's staring at him like that. He must have done it again.

"Look, Clara, it was only a few drinks-"

"A few drinks?" She interrupts sharply, "You were gone for two hours! And for what, just for a few drinks? You KNOW the law! If you were to get caught, you'd be bumped off the streets with a gun!"

"Clara, c'mon, don't be such a bluenose," Rory says, rolling his eyes, "It was only a few drinks-"

"A few? A FEW?"

"Well, maybe a little more then a few..."

Clara gives him a good smack to the back of his head, and he cries out. Rubbing his head reproachfully, he glares at her as she hops off his bed and sits in the rocking chair by the window. Her expression shifts from anger, to something he didn't quite recognize. Something sad, something strange he didn't understand. What was the word? There's a word for it, he couldn't quite figure it out. Sitting there, he pulls the blanket closer around him, trying to ignore the pain in his head that was beginning to leave.

"What do you remember from last night?"

What did happen last night? Rory tries to remember. He remembers telling Clara he'd be going out for a drink or so, ignoring the scowl on her face as she finished the dishes they had used for dinner. Walking along the street, avoiding the gaze of flappers who hovered outside the Cotton Club. Rubbing his hands together, to find the illegal bar he favored because it was close to the apartment. Telling Gus to hand him a drink, and after that, having a conversation with a man with an unusually large chin. And then...

Something about Amelia Pond. The beautiful singer in Ziegfeld Follies he's found himself fancying. But then that was it.

Rory told Clara all he knew, and when he was done, she sighs. Brushing a large lock of brown hair behind her ear, her big round eyes eyeing him carefully. Possibly debating whether to tell him the truth. But when she finally did speak, it was with carefully chosen words and a sense of wanting to forget.

"This man...John Smith...I walked in just as he was trying to help you up...I suppose you passed out again...and I helped you out of the bar. Ignoring him."

"Clara...he said something about that Ziegfeld girl, you remember? From last night? Ziegfeld Follies?"

"Rory, I don't think so. He seemed to be an ordinary man, nothing more then a drifter with funny clothes. You were well out of your mind last night, it's best to forget that ever happened."

"But-"

A sharp knocking came from their door, and both of them stop and give each a other a look, as though questioning whether to answer it. They didn't expect any visitor, especially before noon. Clara, straightening her skirt, goes to answer it, and Rory follows, pulling on a wrinkled dress shirt and a simple pair of trousers, just for the sake of being covered. The two make their way through the living room with kitchen and Clara opens the door.

John Smith.

"Ah! Hello, Rory! I see you're up and about!" He takes Rory's hand and shakes it without a warning or care, and Rory finds himself being shaken greatly, even though John Smith is considerably shorter then him. "And the lovely Miss Oswald! Great to see you two up to face the day!"

"Oi!" Clara prods John sharply on the chest with her index finger, and Rory stifles a laugh as John rubs the area where she prodded him. "What're you doing here? I have half a mind to call the police-"

"Woah! No need for that!" John holds his hands up in surrender, "I just wanted to talk after last night!"

"How did you even find out where we lived?" Rory comments from behind Clara, and Clara nods in agreement. "I mean, this is the tenth floor."

"I may or may not have gotten up later, and asked that bartender where you usually head off." John replies, "Got a lot of good looks from the men in the bar, and basically spent all night looking through all the near apartment buildings. Got myself nearly arrested, but it was important."

"Important you stalk us?" Clara seemed about ready to punch him in the face.

"No, important I talk to Rory! Though, it is lovely seeing your face, Miss Oswald, I must talk to Rory. About Amelia."

"Wait...Amelia?" Rory stutters just a bit,"T-The Amelia Pond? Lead Ziegfeld girl?"

"Of course! She told me she would like to meet with you!" Lies through John's teeth, but he had to do what he had to do for his friend, "And maybe meet for lunch today? Maybe in two hours or so? Bills on us. And of course," John waves towards Clara, "Clara, you're welcome to join us."

"Rory, you can't be sure about this..." Clara immediately interrupts, turning away from John and looking into her best friend's eyes, "He could be a liar, a grifter-"

"Oi! Right here!"

"Oh, go chase yourself!" Clara pushes Rory into the apartment, and shut the front door with her foot, slamming the door in John's face. "My point is, you can't be sure! What if he's lying? What if...what if he's just wanting you to join some gang so you can be a lowlife and a dangerous outlaw! Rory, please."

Rory looks at her expression, the clear concern shown on her face. She was right. Indefinitely, Clara was always impossibly right. But he couldn't take that risk of not meeting her. He's developed a crush on Amelia Pond, and if there was the slightest chance John Smith could lead him to her, he would take it. He would always take it. He shakes his head, much to Clara's chagrin.

"I-I'm sorry, Clara...but I can't take the risk of not meeting her. I have to."

Ignoring Clara's protests, he pushes past her and opens the door, to find John twiddling his thumbs, looking a bit like a lost puppy. Jumping to attention, Rory tells him agrees. John, being extremely excited, dances in place for a moment, before regaining composure and nodding in approval. Telling Rory the name of the restaurant and when to meet, he bids them adieu with a good natured bow. Smiling to himself, Rory closes the door, and merely smiles at Clara who scowls at him once again.

"Idiot."

"Me or him?"

"Both of you."

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><p>"Five, six...five, six, seven, eight!"<p>

Amelia counted down for the orchestra, and when they began their overture, she began to dance. A flip, a turn, the head, a bend, every move she performed was all part of a singular dance, that move to the beat of the music. Her hips turned, and her long skirt flew up, purposefully showing her long, smooth leg. She knew every other girl behind her were doing similar movements, but she did what she did that made her Amelia Pond. Taking risks. Being a star. She has taken what the music gave her and doubled it, tripled it, bringing the beats down and smashing them apart, moving and hitting each note perfectly. Her voice emerged from her throat, a rough sound at first, but slowly warms to something loud, beautiful and proud. Amelia Pond is a talented woman, and she always will be.

Once the number ended, she let the orchestra set up again, watching as the maestro instructed his orchestra to switch pieces. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she walks over to Rose, one of the other Ziegfeld girls.

"Hello, Rose! How goes the day?"

"Well enough for myself," Rose replies, braiding her long blonde hair absent-mindedly, "But not so well for Donna, if you've seen her."

"Why's that?"

"Well, didn't you hear? Mr. Ziegfeld had her fired this morning. He said it was for lack of skill, but I wouldn't believe that bushwa even if it was coming from the President. Donna's older then nearly all of us, about in her 30's. I feel bad for the poor girl, but what can you do?"

"That's horrible!" Amelia exclaims, her voice louder and a bit more pronounced then Rose's, causing a few more Ziegfeld girls to scurry over to their conversation, "Donna is one of the hardest working girls we've got, and Mr. Ziegfeld decides she's too old? Bushwa!"

"Indeed, but we can't do much. Mr. Ziegfeld does what he wants. He could fire each and every one of us if he decides we're too old, or too fat or generally not pretty enough. At least you won't have that problem, Amelia." There was a hint of reproach in Rose's voice, that made Amelia raise her eyebrows in a silent question.

"Well, I mean..." Rose begins hesitantly, "You're beautiful. And smart. And there's no chance of you getting fired, because you're not with anyone, so marriage won't pull you out of show, and you're beautiful and talented."

"Thank you, Rose, but you are too!" A few of the other girls murmur in agreement, "This theater wouldn't be the same without you."

"Well, you're going to have to get used to it," Rose looks down at her uniform, sighing, "Because David and I are getting married."

Squeals of excitement, cries of happiness and congratulations swarm Rose, Amelia congratulating Rose herself. The two have been friends since they both started at Ziegfeld, and the idea one of her best friends will be with someone who will make her happy excites Amelia. It made her sad, too, at the same time, but she was happy for Rose.

"That's brilliant, Rose!"

"I suppose so, but Mr. Ziegfeld just found out, and I won't be surprised if he asks me to leave as soon as I return from my honeymoon with David. No longer Rose Tyler, the Ziegfeld girl, but Rose McDonald, the mother. What would my Mum say?" She groans softly, and begins to mock her mother. _"You shouldn't have married that strange man, no, but you did, and now you're out of the job! Just like your father, I remember-_Ugh!"

"Rose, that won't happen," Amelia assures her, "You'll be one of the best lead Ziegfeld girls there will be!"

"No, Amelia," Rose replies, looking up and meeting Amelia's eyes, "You will. We all know it. And you're in no position to deny it, either. You've always had the lucky breaks, just a bit more fortune then the rest of us."

Amelia stands there in stunned silence, as the other girls comfort Rose, but Rose was right. Amelia had always been Mr. Ziegfeld's favorite, from day one. It had nothing to do with the fact her talent was a bit better then the rest of the girls, her diction crisper and clearer. Her movements fluid and beautiful. No, it was her face. Her beautiful, perfect, porcelain face that carried her from one audition to the other. The only reason Amelia had had trouble getting auditions it was because she was an amateur. The rookie with a beautiful face. But it carried her far, and it was one of her best assets. But now, staring at the reflective metal that was part of the set, she wonders whether she really deserved the position she had. The position that kept her where she is. The position a girl would murder for.

"Amelia!"

She's pulled out of her reverie to see John panting behind. When he wheezes something about meeting a fan for lunch that day, just for some positive look onto her in the news, she doesn't hesitate to agree to it. She had to show the world she deserved her position, and that she was not a shallow doll, a shallow calico cat. No, Amelia Pond was kind. She is clever. She is talented, and though her beautiful face is an asset, she has so much more to offer.


End file.
